


Welcoming for Strangers

by thanatopis



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1409851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanatopis/pseuds/thanatopis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren Yeager and Jean Kirstein have known each other since high school and have <em>very</em> little good things to say about one another. So when Jean comes back from his trip abroad in France, old things are rehashed despite Eren not wanting them to be. </p><p>Basically, Eren and Jean are immature twenty year olds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcoming for Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Happy JeanEren Week!
> 
> So basically this has been sitting in my desktop for forever and I thought that JeanEren week would be the perfect time to just let it _go_. So I hope you guys like it.

On the day that Eren Yeager first met Jean Kirstein he begrudgingly ended up getting his ass kicked.

Not to say that Jean didn’t go home that day with his own set of issues (bruised rib and a cut lip) but Eren didn’t deny that the simple act of breathing that night became a pain in the ass each time he had to cough, or wanted to laugh.

Jean—the little French prick—was (and continued to be) the exact scum Eren hated. Privileged, wealthy, arrogant, self-righteous, dumb, stupid…Eren could honestly go on for hours…

The day he had met Jean, Eren had been 15 and he swore from that day onwards he would _never_ go to France, because _Jean_ was originally from there and if _Jean_ was from France, it _had_ to suck. Eren never failed to snidely mention this opinion to Jean every time they were in the same proximity.

Eren is in a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop that’s only a few blocks from his one bedroom apartment when he receives the text message. It stirs his concentration away from the butt ton of biology homework that’s both due in two days and giving him the worst kind of migraine, so he’s already a little frustrated when he unlocks his phone agitatedly with his thumb.

“What the hell is this?” Eren clamors, clenching his phone suddenly in a tense grip and startling two high school girls (Eren only assumes because for the _past fucking 30 minutes_ he has sat as a prisoner, listening to two girls talk about some stupid ass boy band and which members they were potentially willing to take it up the ass for) next to him who give him dirty looks after the fact. Eren easily pretends they aren’t there.

Eren looks down at his phone and he can feel his right eye begin to twitch madly. He has a message; he knows so because his phone keeps beeping the same message alert 20 times after the fact.

“Shut the fuck up you stupid phone.”

Eren doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s never been good with technology and rather than try to normally— _calmly_ fix things as a child, Eren had smashed them violently up against walls, much to his mother’s dismay. Eren guesses it just stuck.

The two girls look at him again with barely held back contempt as the alert message notice along with his curses get louder in volume. Eren still continues to pretend the high school girls aren’t there with their leering faces as he mumbles obscenities under his breathe.

Eren opens the message and he immediately recognizes the number and dread, heavy and thick, instantly wells up in his being.

“Oh fucking hell—”

It’s a picture of _Jean_ and his _dumb_ face with Armin and Marco. Eren for the life of him, can’t understand how such a nice guy like Marco can put up with Jean’s bitchy ass—let alone consider him his best friend.

Eren’s blood suddenly runs hot as he takes closer inspection of the picture.

Jean has his _stupid_ arm around Armin, and has this _stupid_ , arrogant toothy grin that makes him look like a pedophile, with those _stupid_ sun glasses that make him look like an even bigger tool than he already is. The twitch in Eren’s right eye has picked up understandably as he reads the caption under the picture.

_hey yeager just hangin with ur bff. jelly?_

“Jelly? What are you, fourteen?” Eren scoffs out loud to no one in particular.

He hurriedly texts back, the majority of his words auto-correct as his fingers move erratically over the keyboard. When he sends the first message, Eren immediately notices ‘ _fuck_ ’ was translated into ‘ _duck_ ’ and it makes his reply seem a lot less cool.

_FUCK i meant to say fuck!_

After the initial panic, Eren types:

_How the hell did you get my number? I keep blocking you but that shits obviously not working. you pop back up like a god damn cockroach._

Eren then decides he’s done with his biology homework, (there’s no fucking way in hell that shit is getting done now) and grabs his bag, hauling it over his shoulder while giving the two girls the best of his “fuck you” smile.

In the next second his phone starts to obnoxiously go off again. “Oh god, please stop.”

_reiner gave me it for 5 bucks._

Eren’s walk home involves calling Reiner and bitterly threatening to chop his dick off. Reiner laughs like Eren doesn’t mean it, but seriously, he’s considering it as his phone starts beeping again and he doesn’t have to look at the home screen to know who it is.

“Do you know what you’ve done, you fucker?”

Reiner snorts.

“Just consider this pay back for that one time last week where that girl at Mikasa’s obviously wanted to sleep with you—though, instead of just telling her you weren’t interested like any _normal person_ would, you told her that I was desperately in love with you and that if I caught her trying to steal “my man” I would break her knee caps…”

Eren visibly winces, “You heard about that?” He finishes lamely, biting his bottom lip.

Reiner sighs and Eren can hear the unspoken ‘ _Eren you’re such a dumbass’_ in his tone.

“Yes, you idiot.” Reiner sighs as if talking to a five year old. “Hard not to when we hang with the same people, go to the same school—and honestly—I might be gay Yeager, but I can do a whole lot better than _you_.”

Eren clicks his teeth, mildly offended. “Yeah right, I guess you don’t remember the time you called me cute, huh?”

“I was looking at a baby picture from when you were _six_ dumbass—you were sitting on a pumpkin looking ticked off and constipated as hell,” Reiner starts laughing. “Hell, you _still_ look like that sometimes.” He continues amusingly, chuckling at the thought.

Eren gapes. His brain scrambling for something smart to say but comes up empty handed.

“Fuck you, Reiner.” Eren barks, wishing the older boy could see his hypothetical middle finger right before hanging up.

* * *

 

By the time Eren finally gets home, he’s been alerted by everyone and their brother at how Jean is back from his seven month trip in Europe abroad, and to celebrate, they are all going out tonight.

Eren wants to say he’ll pass, but he doubts it will work with Mikasa.

Doesn’t mean he won’t try though.

* * *

 

It doesn’t fucking work.

Mikasa comes over to his place around five while he’s eating a bowl of Captain Crunch on his faded plaid sofa.

Mikasa walks in without so much as a knock and states, “You should really get in the habit of locking your door Eren.” She even inspects the nob for good measure.

“And _you_ should really get in the habit of knocking,” Eren says without taking his eyes off the TV. Teen Titans is marathoning on Cartoon Network and Eren hasn’t seen this show since he was thirteen. He’ll be damned if anyone thinks he’s missing this opportunity for some stupid welcome back party.

“So,” Mikasa begins, and Eren groans loudly, knowing what’s coming next. “Jean is back from traveling Europe—”

Eren interrupts the obvious. “Yeah, I know,” He begins, almost snarling. “He keeps fucking texting me his _stupid_ face.” Eren grips his phone and shakes it in the air for dire emphasis.

Mikasa continues, unconcerned with the fact. “—and like the good friend you _are_ , you’re coming with me tonight to celebrate. No lame excuses Eren, everyone is going to be there.”

Eren gawks at her, the spoon full of Captain Crunch only a few centimeters from his mouth, and he knows it’s futile to argue because Mikasa is a hard girl to say no too (and not because of some chivalric code shit, but because she’s terrifying when she wants to be).

“But—” Eren beings lamely, “ _Teen Titans_ is on. That never fucking _happens_ Mikasa!” Eren shrieks and he vaguely notes that he has seemingly reverted back to the age of thirteen as well.

* * *

 

It’s around 8:47 when Mikasa orders Eren to start getting ready.

He huffs and pouts at nothing in particular because he’s in the middle of the episode where Robin goes bad and fuck—it’s _intense_.

Mikasa’s already picked out what he’s going to wear and it’s a little fancier than what he would have liked. A dark olive dress shirt rolled up to the elbows with his best fitting pair of dark-wash jeans that ride attractively low on his hips. Eren pouts.

“What’s wrong with what I’m already wearing?”

Eren looks down self-consciously at his shirt that reads: “ _Carpe that F**king Diem_ ” and his jeans that out ratio the holes to pockets and looks back up, seeing nothing wrong.

Mikasa sighs as if it’s already obvious, but instead, just points out the food stains on the front of his t-shirt.

* * *

 

They get to the club 20 minutes later and Eren can spot each of his friends respective cars—and Connie’s Yamaha motorcycle—but there is one he doesn’t recognize among the huddle as Mikasa parks next to Armin’s Prius.

Eren glares at Mikasa as she turns off the ignition. He hurriedly steps out of the car, all of a sudden needing some fresh air as his throat oddly seizes.

“You’re buying all my drinks tonight Mikasa,” Eren threatens, which only earns a fond smile from Mikasa. “Hope your wallet is big enough—because damn, I am going to need it.”

After being carded and looked suspiciously at by a guy Eren is sure could kill him if he actually found out he wasn’t 21, Mikasa leads the way towards a hidden alcove in the club that is reserved for big groups or parties.

As they near closer, Eren can begin to hear excited murmurs of familiar voices—can independently hear Connie’s enthusiasm, Reiner’s deep baritone, Christa’s angelic voice, and then there’s—

And Jean looks up.

The bright, fond smile that had been directed at Marco only a second ago instantly falls off Jean’s face as he spots Eren and Eren frowns deeply at the sight, sticking his hands deep into his pockets.

Jean’s still looking at him—is the _only one_ actually looking at him—the rest are to engrossed in their conversations to notice and a slow, knowing grin forms on Jean’s face as Eren represses a shiver.

“Well look who decided to show up.” Jean says in that prissy, holier-than-thou tone of voice that reminds Eren of nails on a chalkboard.

Conversations stop and everyone looks up at the both of them with flushed faces—no doubt half of it due to the alcohol. Only two people—Reiner and Bertolt—are of drinking age and Eren notices they are the only ones who _don’t_ have drinks in front of them.

“Mikasa, you look beautiful as always.” Jean says, eagerly making his way out of the crowded semi-circle booth and ignoring Eren altogether as he makes a beeline for Mikasa.

Eren scowls as he watches Jean envelop his sister all too friendly in his arms. Jean softly kisses the apples of her cheeks and Mikasa just shyly smiles, patting him semi-awkwardly on the shoulder. Even as a kid she was never good with public displays of affection.

Eren has no idea where they both stand with each other now. They had broken up a couple of weeks before Jean left for Europe and Mikasa never once talked about it, so Eren had automatically assumed it had been bad.

“Eren,” Jean begins, letting go of Mikasa and his light, brown eyes roam introspectively up and down the length of him. “Looks like you’ve been bulking up.” Jean claps his upper arm, a bit harder than necessary and yells, “Good for you, you were always a touch on the flimsy side.” Jean shrugs, all too condescendingly as if they aren’t the same fucking _age_.

Eren can hear the amused snicker made by Connie and glares daggers over Jean’s shoulder.

“What the hell are you laughing at midget?”

* * *

 

They sit—Jean in the middle—and everyone asks questions mainly about Paris and Germany.

Sasha asks what the food is like in Spain, and if Jean ever tried their famous Spanish omelet. When Jean says he has and that it was the best thing he’s ever put in his mouth, Sasha practically _foams_ at the mouth.

Eren is at the end of the booth, trying for the life of him to pretend that he’s back at home in his boxers, watching Teen Titans and eating Captain Crunch. Eren knocks back sips of beer—much to the amusement of Reiner who sits across from him, watching his misery with a fond eye.

“I said I was sorry!” Eren whines, taking another sip.

“No you didn’t.”

Eren stutters, “Maybe not…but I thought it!”

* * *

 

It’s starts when Connie asks Sasha to dance.

The song is one Eren’s never heard before, but the beat is fast and tepid, and the bass rocks through the house like a jackhammer, electrifying the place. It’s perfect for them.

Connie grabs Sasha and with a twirl, drags her somewhere deep into the crowd of gyrating bodies and erratic purple and green strobe lights.

And then it’s Ymir and Christa, followed by Reiner and Bertolt, then Marco, and then Jean offers his hand to Mikasa and Eren has to repress the urge to gag when she actually takes it.

And then there were two…

“Well you can stop looking at me like that, because I’m sure as hell not asking _you_ to dance.” Eren says as Armin gives him his most disapproving look.

“You know, you could at least pretend like you’re having fun,” Armin scolds, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “He just came back from Europe and you can’t even be a little friendly?”

“Armin you don’t understand. I missed _this_ , for Teen Titans— _Teen Titans_ —so please understand where I am a little pissed I missed _Teen Titans_ for Jean fucking Kirstein.” Eren complains as he knocks back a bottle.

Armin looks about ready to hit him when a blonde girl with a crooked nose steps up to their booth and boldly asks Armin to dance. She doesn’t even spare a glance at Eren as her eerie blue eyes gaze appreciatively up and down Armin’s form and he blushes, highly caught off guard with being so obviously admired.

Armin apparently likes what he see too, because in the next second he’s nodding dumbly at the girl and she smirks, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him into the pulsing crowd.

Eren sighs, waving down a waitress for another beer.

* * *

“You look absolutely pathetic.”

Eren immediately tenses, the mouth of the beer bottle resting slightly on his bottom lip, and Eren deeply frowns.

Jean’s standing above him, leaning slightly over him as he rests his weight against the end of the booth, and Eren grimaces, scooting down the booth seat out of Jean’s personal atmosphere.

“Back off.” Eren grunts and he notices for the first time tonight that Jean’s upper right ear has two piercings that glint each time a strobe light passes over them. Eren thinks it makes him look even more like a douche.

Apparently he says this out loud because in the next second, Jean is chuckling and playing absentmindedly with the two small hoops.

Jean smoothly slides into the empty space besides Eren, extending his arm behind him to rest on the back of the booth and Eren shutters slightly; he doesn’t know if it’s because of the proximity or because of the tempting heat Jean radiates—either way, Eren chalks it up to the alcohol fucking with his head.

“What the hell—”

“I got ‘em done in Paris actually, I was being a total puss, but the guy I was with convinced me—and I thought, fuck it—‘ _why the hell not_?’”

Eren feels like his missing something as Jean just _looks_ at him and he looks at Jean. His brows screw up in confusion and his hand is just itching to punch Jean in the face, because— _what the fuck?_

“Fascinating,” Eren snarks taking another swig and looking past Jean at the cluster of dancing bodies (none in which he recognizes), and he swears he hears Jean sigh, but can’t be too sure.

“You’re such an immature ass,” Jean begins, and he sounds just as frustrated as Eren currently feels.

“Are we honestly not going to talk about it?” Eren almost projectile spits out his drink, but instead the liquid ends up going down his windpipe and he loudly hacks up what sounds to be his right lung.

Oh… _that_ …

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Eren stammers, his face becoming red hot.

Denial, denial, denial…

Jean snorts, the spitefulness of it rocking his shoulders as he gives Eren’s face a steady once-over, paying particular attention to the blush staining high over his cheeks and begrudgingly deepening as Jean continues to stare at him. The reaction earns Eren a sly grin that has his heart violently palpitating as Jean leans ever so slowly in his direction.

Eren feels warm puffs of breath on the shell of his ear that smell distinctly of lime and tequila, and oddly enough, Eren can’t find it in him to mind.

“Jean,” Eren warns, inwardly cringing at how short of breath he sounds.

Jean just chuckles, the deep, sensual sound of it shooting up Eren’s spine, and settling low in his belly.

“It’s funny,” He begins, lips brushing over Eren’s earlobe, “How on both occasions were something like this has happened between us, we both have to be slightly drunk to do anything about it.” Eren yelps at the teasing wet press of a tongue against his ear and then a sharp bite following.

“You’re such a fucking coward.” Jean whispers as he does it again.

Eren sucks in a shuttering breath to argue—to fervently deny, but Jean immediately cuts him off.

“Oh shut up Eren—you’ve thought about me jacking you off just as much as I’ve thought about you jacking me. I think it’s a little late for modesty.” At that, Jean loosely grips Eren’s cock through his jeans and palms him for a short moment before resting his hand on his thigh, running his nails up and down the quivering muscle. Eren whines at the loss, spreading his legs wide, accommodating for his growing hard-on.

“I hate you so fucking much.” Eren turns his head, squaring Jean with a look he hopes is some sort of convincing.       

Jean moves back, his face indecipherable as his brown eyes narrow and Eren could have sworn Jean was ready to rip him a new one. But in the next second a devilish smirk transforms his features into something smug and mischievous.

Eren gulps, almost wishing Jean had said whatever he was going to say instead of this:

“Let’s dance, Yeager.”

It takes more than a little cajoling to get Eren on the dance floor. Jean practically has to drag him despite Eren’s obvious protests. In the span of 50 seconds, Jean is called every bad word that Eren can possibly think of—even the ones he had learned on the playground back in elementary school.

 _How dare he_ —

“You know, I really don’t get your deal with me.” Jean says as he twirls Eren’s body back into his own and Eren almost has a heart attack as his ass brushes against Jean’s front. Jean puts one of his hands on Eren’s hip, prompting him to slightly sway side to side and the other rests itself low on Eren’s taut abdomen.

The song playing is steadier in its beat, a slow sort of burn that allows the lyrics to be heard as the bass and tempo create a sensual sound allowing them to dance this slowly. It’s an odd choice for this club, Eren vaguely thinks, and all of a sudden he has the sneaking suspicion its Jean’s doing—because _everything_ somehow ends up being Jean’s fault.

Jean continues on like its normal for Eren’s butt to be brushing him as often as it’s brushing, and a quick glance over his shoulder proves that Jean even looks semi-thrilled about the thought.

“Where the hell are you touching!?” Eren growls, but it sounds more like a loud whisper as the music pounds like his frantic heartbeat and Jean just grins that stupid all-knowing smile, as if the situation amuses him more than it rightly should.

The hand already low on his hip slides snuggly around his waist and Jean’s fingers brush lightly over the tanned skin where Eren’s shirt has risen up and Eren feels himself being pulled closer into Jean’s body.

The intimacy of it all—the impression that Jean’s chest leaves against his back—how even through Jean's black cotton shirt Eren can feel the hint of firm, capable muscles contracting each time he as much sways his hips and it has Eren at a loss for words as he stutters uselessly like an idiot instead.  

“I could’ve asked you that same thing the night before I left Eren.” Jean breaths right into his ear and Eren almost yelps.

It shouldn’t turn him on—the smugness in Jean’s voice, but nevertheless, Eren feels his cock twitch in interest.

Two nights before Jean was scheduled to leave, the gang had all decided to meet up at Armin’s for a farewell party of sorts. The evening consisted of them skinny dipping in a pool, drinking to their hearts content, and hook-up’s (usually between Reiner and Bertholdt or Christa and Ymir) where everyone took a curious peek or two.

Eren wasn’t going to lie—he had been super horny that weekend. Eren hadn’t got laid in over two months and the sexual frustration he felt was suffocating. It also didn’t help that he sat and watched Ymir and Christa make out and lazily grind on each other, both soaking wet and _naked_ , for at least 5 minutes before they finally noticed him and shooed him away.  

So it definitely didn’t help that Jean was _just_ as horny.

It didn’t help that when they were all skinny dipping, splashing and rough-housing in the water, both of their eyes weirdly locked and held. Didn’t help that no one thought they were sober enough to drive back home—didn’t help that when they all had to divvy up available sleeping space in Armin’s already small apartment, Eren got paired with Jean, with only a small sleeping blanket as company.

They both had been shirtless, Jean’s chest lightly touching Eren’s back as their legs begrudgingly intertwined, and Eren could have died from the mortification he felt when his cock started to harden at the miniscule press of another body against his.

“Hey, stop moving.” Jean had mumbled, and Eren stiffened as Jean’s breath tickled behind his left ear.

“Shut up you idiot, I’m trying to sleep.” Eren stubbornly had tried to kick at Jean, but only succeeded in tangling their legs more as Jean’s knee slipped slightly between his thighs.

“Could’ve fooled me,” He quietly snorted. “Your squirming is getting really hard to ignore,” After a slight pause, added, “Nervous, Yeager?” And Jean shifted closer to Eren mockingly—no doubt making fun of him because Jean was _that much_ of an asshole.

“Back off you pervert.” Eren hissed lowly, not wanting to alert anyone to his current misfortune. The proximity prompted him to squirm only some more as Jean’s knee slipped further in-between his thighs—now, extremely close to where his cock was fully hard against belly. Eren, a little too late, realized his mistake.

Fuck—fuck— _fuck_ — _fuck_ —shit—

Jean lowly chuckled, a rough hum in Eren’s ear that made him shiver as Jean’s knee brushed heavily against his balls and the underside of his cock. It had been antagonizing—the moment Eren could actually pin-point when Jean finally _got_ it.

Jean only paused for a second before the arm that wasn’t holding up his head slid coyly around Eren’s waist, playing lightly with the dark hair at his navel and Eren inhaled sharply. The pads of Jean’s fingers enticed goose bumps that spread from Eren’s arms all the way down to his toes in a sensual wave of sensation.

“Pervert?” Jean asked innocently as his fingers moved further, “You’re the one that’s harder than a rock right now,” Jean laughed as if the whole situation was beyond his comprehension, but he hadn’t stopped completely from trying to figure it out.

“Always knew you were hot for me, Yeager.” Jean muttered, nuzzling his face into the dark hair at the nape of Eren’s neck, biting him there hard. Eren grunted, his whole body jolting as he grabbed instinctively at Jean’s wrist.

With his middle finger, the bastard leisurely teased the crease of Eren’s boxers where his cock was most sensitive and Eren clawed savagely at the carpeted floor beneath them, begging himself not to make a sound.

To this day, Eren doesn’t know the intent of the harsh grip he had on Jean’s wrist (whether it was pleading or cautionary) but by the time Jean finally wrapped his fingers around him, Eren’s mind had been far too gone to make any kind of sensible decision.

Jean pulled at him with firm, long strokes that made his cock twitch and his head foggy. Somewhere, in-between Eren’s toe curling pleasure, he had eagerly reached behind him and hesitantly (at first) stroked Jean’s cock as well, his wrist twisting in an awkward angle as he pumped vigorously. Eren turned his head back as far as he could, breathe catching in his throat each time Jean’s hand squeezed tighter around his shaft, watching closely as Jean fell apart alongside him.

Eren stared enraptured—weirdly awed by how Jean’s brows furrowed in pleasure and how tempting his bottom lip looked pulled in-between his teeth. Eren would be lying if he said he didn’t have a quick thought about slowly licking the seam of Jean’s lips with his tongue, prying those lips open and delving in...

Come morning Eren would wake with a killer kink in his neck, highly confused at whose arm was lazily thrown over his chest. He’d mentally kick himself at the realization that it was Jean Kirstein, the guy who he had _mutually_ jacked off—his enemy of… _forever_ (until _now_ —lines were totally blurred at this point)—and that said enemy had made Eren come embarrassingly fast by just him tugging on his fucking _dick_.

 _Fuuuuck_.

Their dynamic had changed, that much was obvious as he stared down at Jean who woke with an annoyed grunt, groggily opening his eyes and startling slightly as he gazed up at Eren. Delayed understanding flickered in those brown eyes almost comically, surely remembering an image of Eren stroking his cock like it was some sort of race.

Jean’s mouth opened agape, trying—rather uselessly—to form the right words for this fucked up predicament. Eren took that moment right then to remember the pure filth that Jean had spewed into his ear and flushed brightly.

Eren could have almost teased him for how awkward and… _not-Jean_ he was being, but Eren wasn’t fairing any better in the _conversations-I-never-want-to-have-with-my-childhood/early teen-enemy-because…just-no…_

Jean somehow worked up the courage to break the tense atmosphere—of course down playing the whole situation. Jean had said something about the ‘lowering of his taste’ insulting Eren, trying to get back in their regular swing of antagonism, but it felt wrong and shallow.

Eren with a heavy breath realized things had most definitely changed.

* * *

 

The next several months consisted of Eren ignoring all of Jean’s inquiring texts—even going as far to block his number—which somehow—Jean always managed to work his way around, until he just… _stopped_.

Jean’s long absence helped Eren forget about the night at Armin’s and life (seemingly) moved on.

* * *

 

“I hate you so fucking much.”

Eren’s back is slammed hard against a door that reads apartment number B304—and to make matters worse—it’s not even his.

Jean is _everywhere_. In his mouth, in-between his thighs, in his nose—he’s everywhere and Eren finds it hard to stay up right with all the sensory. In a flurry of limbs, Eren wraps his arms around Jean’s waist, his hands trailing towards his ass and grabbing handfuls, pulling the stockier built boy closer.

“You keep saying that.” Jean grunts with what sounds like mild irritation in his tone and Eren curses himself as it makes his legs widen in stance and his heart jump in his chest. He’s just realizing that Jean’s voice does that to him a lot.

“Open the door you fucking exhibitionist,” Eren half yells, half whines as Jean peppers bites like kisses along his neck and jaw, “Say goodbye to any chance of their being a hard-on in my pants the second someone sees us—which I’m hoping is any minute now because—” Eren gasps loudly as Jean grinds his hips down into the apex of his thighs, the brief feel of Jean’s hard cock brushing roughly against his own makes him whimper and Eren inwardly cringes at the high-pitched sound of it.

The touch is so quick, so enticing—and not nearly enough as Jean frustratingly pulls back. Eren just juts his hips forward into the friction, hoping that Jean will get a god damn clue.

“— _Jesus_ —this is insane.”

If someone had told Eren his freshman year of high school that by twenty, Jean Kirstein would dry fuck the shit out of him in front of his fancy ass apartment— _in public_ no less—he would have laughed crazily before threatening to kick their face in.

“ _Jean_ —holy fuck—” Eren pants, mouth agape as Jean gives three hard consecutive thrusts that has pre-come soaking the front of his underwear.

Jean chuckles, rearing back with gleaming eyes and Eren notices then the embarrassingly earnest grip he has on Jean’s perk ass, and instantly releases his hold with hot cheeks.

“Why’d you let go?” Jean inquires with a bump of his nose against Eren’s own. His voice having gone deep and husky makes Eren gulp.

Bringing both his hands up to either side of his face, Jean’s slightly taller figure hovers over Eren’s in way that he’s never quite appreciated before until now.

“Why do you have to ask stupid questions?” Eren scowls.

Jean takes his time fitting his body onto Eren’s, making sure to tease and frustrate every nerve ending in his body as fabric slides excruciatingly over taut skin that desperately wants to be touched.

Eren instinctively shoots up, breath hitching in his throat as Jean’s thigh makes contact—as light as it may be—to his cock. Eren rolls his chest up in a shuttering breath, his nipples brushing against Jean’s own through the cotton of his shirt and Eren moans at the friction.

He’s fully come to terms with the fact that he’s getting laid tonight.

The door finally opens and they both tumble through without falling on the floor in a sprawl. Jean kisses him in a flurry, both hands gripping the sides of Eren’s face as his tongue sweeps in, invading every crevice of Eren’s mouth and oddly enough, Eren doesn’t mind the show of dominance—especially when he wants to inflict his own.

He groans in the kiss. Surprisingly enough, Jean’s quite good at it. Jean’s lips are pleasantly soft and full and Eren takes his bottom lip into his mouth, diligently sucking before biting the plump skin and dragging his teeth roughly over the smooth flesh.

He watches through half lidded eyes as Jean’s mouth softens with pleasure and Jean immediately catches his gaze on him. The heat in which Jean looks at him is suffocating and only seems to spur Eren on more.

“You’re such a fucking pervert.” He says, futilely trying to hang on to some sort of normality that has long since gone. Instead, it comes out as a needy, breathy whisper played on Jean’s lips and it’s so erotic—so intimate Eren realizes— _this moment_.

They are both content with breathing each other’s air as they stand in the middle of Jean’s living room, Eren’s hands grasping desperately at Jean’s shirt.

Jean lives in the heart of the city so the lights filter in from all over, making shadows out of the fancy lamps and abstract wall hangings. Golden light catches Jean’s face, bathing him in a radiant glow that beautifully emphasizes the angles of his face—no doubt doing the same for Eren if the look Jean gives him is anything to go by—and it’s just…

“You’re thinking,” Jean says matter-of-fact like it’s a bad thing for him to do, and Eren strangely agrees.

He doesn’t think for the rest of the night, especially when Jean brings his lips down to his again, feeding the raging fire burning wildly in his gut.

They end up fucking on the floor the first time.

With the right amount of lube and finger fucking, Jean takes him deep like a pro. Eren’s never been with a guy (he never really thought about it) but tonight definitely has him reconsidering.

The act is carnal and hot—and so fucking dirty as Jean shouts his encouragement to the ceiling with lust bitten lips and dirty talk that ranges from “fuck me hard with that big fucking cock” to “come on Yeager _harder_ —make me fucking feel it in the morning” it’s absolutely foul, but Eren eats it up anyway. He’s determined to make Jean a babbling mess before the night is through, and _damn_ the bastard for making the image so fucking tempting.

Eren ends up getting rug burn on his knees feels better at the various amounts of come stains on the rug that Jean’s going to have to clean up when he’s long gone.

When they’re both too tired to move an inch, Eren watches copious amounts of fluid run down and in between the crack of Jean’s ass as he tries to catch his breathe.

Eren bites his lip at the sight. Jean’s round ass spread wide, his hole well fucked and twitching as Jean buries his face in the crook of his elbow, panting and drooling slightly onto the rug.  

Jean’s breathes are shaky and shallow as he rolls over unto his back, working an arm behind him to cradle the back of his head. Both of them happen to catch each other’s eyes at the same time, expressions dazed and reactions equally slow and both laugh at the sight of one another.

The sound rises in volume and Eren laughs harder at the utter ridiculousness of this situation.

“So…” Eren begins, strangely hesitant. “You’re gay?” He puts a high emphasis on the question mark at the end of the sentence because—shit, Jean and Mikasa dated for two years before they called it quits and even before that, Jean was always annoyingly crazy about her.

The mood sobers slightly as Jean tilts his head in Eren’s direction, his face still dotted with sweat as one brow rises sharply and his mouth transforms into something between a scowl and a frown.

“Really?” Jean deadpans, and Eren feels the tips of his ears turn hot.

“I finish coming and that’s the first thing you think to say?—yeah real fucking sexy Yeager.” He snorts, rolling his eyes.

“What?” Eren huffs in defense, brows furrowing as he props himself up on his elbow. “It’s a legit question that—in this scenario—seems to make all kinds of fucking sense. It’s just I thought—you and Mikasa—”

Jean clicks his teeth, looking back up at the ceiling.

“I broke up with her for a reason—not that it’s any of your business _Yeager_ , but you know better than anyone she didn’t like me.” Eren almost regrets bringing up the subject when he hears the wispiness of Jean’s voice—not that he gives a shit or anything—it’s just… _no_.

“At least not as much as I liked her,” Jean sighs.

The sound of it isn’t wistful or filled with longing, but instead of much thought out contemplation as if Jean’s deemed the break up something far beyond his control and in the process, has made peace with it.

Eren’s still a bit skeptical.

“So…” Eren begins again after an awkward pause that goes on for too long (at least to him), and smirks coyly when he hears Jean’s frustrated groan.

“What the hell is this?” Eren gestures lazily between himself and Jean with an index finger.

“We’ve known each other for at least five years, why do you want to bone me all of a sudden?”

Jean doesn’t seem as ticked by this question as the other one.

“I don’t know,” Jean shrugs, copying Eren’s body language in a leisurely manner, the both of them peering at each other in the dim light.

Eren can’t help but to follow the lines and curves of Jean’s body when he shifts and moves, watching the lean muscle that only moments ago convulsed and trembled underneath his spread fingers.

When Eren’s finished ogling Jean for all he’s worth, Jean’s all-knowing smirk is waiting for him.

“You’re not half bad to look at yourself Yeager.” It’s that fucking voice again—the one that makes his mouth as dry as sand paper and makes tremors run down the length of his spine.

Eren slowly licks his lips, making sure that Jean catches the slow slide of his tongue.

“I still think this is crazy.” Eren says, even as he places his hand on Jean’s stomach, teasing the course hair there. “For fuck sake it’s _you_!” His hand runs lower, grabbing hold of Jean’s flaccid cock.

“No, I totally agree.” Jean nods in understanding, managing (aggravatingly) to keep his voice steady even as Eren starts to eagerly stroke him in firm, gracious motions.

“Even if you do have an amazing body, your personality still blows.”

Eren can’t find it in himself to get too worked up over the insult, especially when Jean gives the tiniest of moans and bucks up mildly into his hand.

Eren grins.

“Glad we agree.”


End file.
